I think we are all guilty at times of importing our understanding of earth into our assumptions of heaven. We are all guilty of importing our understanding of how things work here to how they will work there. We look at the world we know and extrapolate to the one we don’t. I sometimes fear, though, that our thoughts of heaven are actually marred by our experiences of earth.

I have often heard people speak of those who are in heaven and use language such as “the people closest to the throne” or maybe those who “have the biggest mansions” or those who are given “the greatest reward.” And certainly there seems to be some variety to the degree of the rewards God will dispense to his people—though variety that will neither swell the hearts of those who receive more nor provoke the hearts of those who receive less (if that is, indeed, the way things work).
When I hear people use language like “those closest to the throne,” they almost invariably speak of people who are known and famous, who are acknowledged by other believers to have accomplished a lot for the Lord and for his purposes. Surely that one who preached so faithfully to such great crowds and that one who wrote books that sold so well and that one who served so committedly and so publicly—surely they are the ones who are counted great in the kingdom. Surely they are the ones who receive the greatest honor in heaven. After all, they are the ones who received the greatest honor on earth. If God’s people held them in such high esteem here, why wouldn’t God hold them in similarly high esteem there?
Yet I can’t help but wonder if this betrays a pattern of thinking that doesn’t understand the mind and heart of God—that assumes that the most public gifts are the most important and that God gives the most important gifts to his most favored people. Or that there is a necessary connection between the visibility of a gift and its value in his eyes.
Are we certain that the gifts we count as most important are the ones that God counts as most important? Do we know that a gift for preaching is more important than a gift of encouragement? Are we certain that the man who preaches before tens of thousands of strangers in a conference venue ranks higher than the woman who intercedes for mere tens or hundreds from the privacy of her home? Are we certain that the one who leads the church in worship is really far ahead of the one who prepares the church by shoveling its sidewalks and setting up its chairs? That the one who labors in the pulpit is doing more important work than the one who labors in her prayer closet?
Jesus told us to be like little children, not like great celebrities. He didn’t tell us to be famous, but to be faithful, not to revel in the applause of men but to long for the affirmation of God. Our responsibility is to exercise the gifts and embrace the duties God has given us, no matter what they are, no matter how public, no matter how visible. We have no business wishing away the gifts God has given to us and no business envying the gifts he has given to someone else. We are to labor with diligence and entrust it all to God.
I am convinced that if there are some who receive a particularly great reward, it will be those who were most faithful with what they were given, whether it was much or little, visible or invisible, acknowledged by others or completely overlooked. The man who lived a life of quiet faithfulness in the humblest of jobs will surely receive God’s commendation ahead of many of those who wore fine vestments and who stood in ornate pulpits. The woman who served with excellence in an invisible ministry will surely be acknowledged ahead of the one who brought mediocrity to the most visible.
The fact is, there is no reason at all to think that the foremost preachers or most famous theologians will be received most joyfully in heaven, for God measures these things so differently from the way we do. In his eyes it’s not the visibility of the gift that matters, but the diligence with which it is embraced and exercised. And this puts the onus on each of us to ask how and where God has called us to serve his purposes, then to serve then and there in his strength and for his glory, joyfully entrusting it all to him.

What can a heart do? What actions do we associate with the human heart? A heart can beat; a heart can race; a heart can stop. That’s all very literal and speaks to the heart as a physical part of our bodies. But we also speak of the heart metaphorically as the place of our emotions. And so we say that a heart can long and love, it can hurt and break. We even say that a heart can be given: “I give you my heart.” The heart, then, in our way of thinking, is physical and emotional.

But then how does the Bible use “heart?” Did you know that the New Testament uses the word “heart” well over a hundred times, but never once to refer to the organ in your chest? It only ever uses it as a metaphor, as a word picture. So what can the heart do according to the Bible?
I looked up all the uses in the New Testament and came up with a list: A heart can think, a heart can understand, a heart can desire, a heart can speak; a heart can doubt or believe, it can love or hate, it can repent or remain impenitent. A heart can be dull or sharp, hard or soft, open or closed, downcast or refreshed, right or wrong, sincere or hypocritical, pure or impure. The heart can have longings and secrets and intentions and purposes. It can produce good or evil, it can be filled by the Holy Spirit or by Satan, it can stay near to God or stray far from him. And though that list is quite long, it accounts for only the New Testament which represents merely 15 percent of the times the word is used throughout the Bible.
So, in the way the biblical authors thought, the heart is far more than emotion. It’s the place our actions originate. It’s the place our thoughts and words originate, as well as our intentions and motives, our convictions and worship. The heart is the place of affection and emotion and reason from which we issue orders to the rest of our faculties.
You might say the heart is the controller for the drone. That drone will sit there and do nothing until you touch a dial or knob. And then it will respond, then it will obey the commands it is given. You might say the heart is the mission control center at NASA that tells the astronauts when to blast off and when to touch down. We will not do anything or say anything or even desire anything without the heart first issuing the order. None of our abilities or faculties operate independently of the heart.
The heart, then, is the place where God’s influence comes into contact with man’s will to be accepted or rejected, to be obeyed or disobeyed. This makes the heart the very moral center of a human being. And it’s for this reason we need to ask God to search the heart, to examine it and look for anything there that dishonors him or threatens our well-being. It’s for this reason we need to monitor all of our words and actions, knowing they are the overflow of the heart and that they expose the state of the heart. It’s for this reason we need to keep the heart, tend the heart, guard the heart, and feed and satisfy the heart with good spiritual nourishment. It’s for this reason that nothing matters more to the Christian life than the heart. For, in God’s eye, the heart is always the heart of the matter.

I watched in fascination as the programmer wrote line after line of code, each word and each line forming part of an increasingly complex whole. His fingers were barely visible as they tapped out letter after letter and number after number. And then his work was done. With a smile and a flourish, he compiled the code and hit “play.” I marveled to see what he had created. And I thought “What a great keyboard! If only I had that same keyboard I could create a program as incredible as that!”

I gazed with rapt attention as the artist shaped his sculpture. With a shaping tool held deftly in his hand, he carved away large portions of the marble and then, as he progressed, carefully tapped out much smaller ones. Then he took his rasp and delicately smoothed and polished the surface. Bit by bit he worked at that block of marble until it began to reveal the wondrous figure that he had had the vision to know was hidden within. And I spoke it out loud: “I need that shaping tool! I need that rasp! Those tools are responsible for this sculpture. I need them for myself.”
I stared fixedly as the mechanic repaired the engine that had long since ceased to function. With wrench and ratchet and a number of tools I could not identify, he dismantled, then cleaned, then repaired, then reassembled. Finally, he sat in the driver’s seat, turned the key, and listened in satisfaction as the engine roared to life. And I cried, “Praise the tools! I need that wrench and I need that ratchet because then I, too, will be able to be an expert mechanic!”
None of this is true. And none of it is sane. It would be crazy to think that if only I had the right keyboard, the right rasp and shaping tool, the right wrench and ratchet then I would be able to create a game, shape a sculpture, or fix an engine. And it would be even more crazy to think that the creative or reparative genius resides in the tool instead of the one who wields it. It’s the programmer who deserves to be commended, not the keyboard; the sculptor who should have his name in the history books, not his implements; and the mechanic who should be applauded rather than the hardware he used.
And so it should be with us when it comes to preachers and preachers, to speakers and speaking, to writers and writing—tools he uses to accomplish his purposes. As I recently heard in a sermon, “We celebrate God, not the tool.” Or we are supposed to, anyway.
When we hear a sermon that stimulates our minds, we owe praise to God, not the preacher. When we hear a new song that provokes our hearts to worship, we ought to praise God long before the songwriter. When we receive the benefit of another person’s gifting we ought to express gratitude to God, not the one who merely made use of what God had generously bestowed upon him. We praise God, not the tool.
When we ourselves are the ones who have been used by God—when we have preached a sermon that has deeply affected those who heard it, when we have composed a song that moves hearts in worship and obedience, when we have written words that have stimulated others on to love and good deeds—our response should be “I am an undeserving servant; I have only done my duty.” It must be our desire to have them praise God, not the tool.
Of course, there will be times to encourage another person and express our gratitude to them, for God works through tools, not apart from them. And he most often works through tools that have submitted to his use and done their best to foster and strengthen it. But ultimately, it is always and ever God who deserves our praise, God who deserves our worship, God who deserves the honor. Always and ever we celebrate God far ahead of the tools he wields for our good and his glory.